


What Lies Beneath

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Asphyxiation, First Time, M/M, Peril, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-28
Updated: 2012-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-31 21:10:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex and Yassen are trapped on a sinking submarine with no means of escape and running out of air…</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Lies Beneath

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. That time, however, had been a good four hours ago, and right now Alex was sick in every sense of the tiny metal locker he was wedged into. The movement of the craft combined with the smell of fumes seeping out from somewhere close by was making him nauseous, and he wondered for the twentieth time why no-one had ever told him it was possible to get seasick under the damn water.

As for his initial plan of sneaking out to sabotage the submarine, well that had been well and truly stuffed by the simple fact the quiet room he’d slipped into while the crew were still boarding had turned out to be a hive of activity ever since. 

So here he was, trapped and queasy, unable to tell what was going on and getting closer every second to their destination: no more able to put a halt to the plans than if he’d stayed behind on the damn island.

Racking his brains for a way of doing something useful, his desperate thought processes were suddenly derailed by a deafening explosion somewhere in the depths of the boat, as simultaneously the floor lurched under him, banging his head painfully against the metal wall in the process. 

Confused and alarmed, he put his hands out to steady himself, and listened to the running feet and frantic barked orders outside his hiding place.

Something, clearly, had gone badly wrong, and although he wasn’t sure it felt like the forward momentum had stopped. The next set of noises though chilled him more than the explosion had. A search was being made.

He contemplated making a run for it - but where would he go? The sub was tiny compared to some he’d seen. There were torpedo-like escape pods, in which he’d originally planned to make his getaway - but he knew he’d be gunned down before he got within reach.

Maybe they wouldn’t find him.

Maybe they wouldn’t look in here.

Yeah, right.

His eventual and inevitable discovery came in a flood of light and cacophony of shouting, and he was dragged roughly into the open, cuffed round the head and kicked as he sprawled on the floor. Arms round his head, trying to protect himself, he was dragged upright to face the commander of the sub and self-styled ruler of the island they’d left behind.

Short, portly and bearded, the man scowled up at him, slapping a riding crop against his leg irritably. 

“You! I wondered what had happened to you. I thought the crocodiles had got you.”

“I made a snappy getaway,” Alex replied before he could stop himself, and yelped as the crop was brought down sharply across his cheek. 

The man was shaking his head ruefully. “I had such high hopes for you at one time. And this is how you repay me. In sabotage!”

“Yeah, well I’ve always been a disappointment,” Alex muttered, but his thoughts were running wild. He’d assumed there’d been an accident, but if not - that meant somewhere on the boat was a second saboteur. An ally? Hardly. No, his capture meant the real saboteur was in the clear. No-one was going to help him.

He wiped a trickle of blood away from his lip with the back of his hand and scanned the faces of the silent crew arrayed behind Sarkov. Hostile faces stared back, mixed with some surprise at the youthful appearance of their stowaway.

“Kill him.” 

Alex’s attention snapped back to Sarkov. “It wasn’t me!” he blurted, knowing even as he did so it wasn’t going to be enough to save him. 

Sure enough, his words were met with a sneer. Sarkov looked at the sailor currently holding a gun on him and nodded. “Do it.” 

Alex looked from Sarkov to the barrel of the gun inches from his forehead and took a shakily resigned breath. Bit his lip, and closed his eyes.

The shot, when it came, made him flinch in tensed horror - but it wasn’t accompanied by any pain and he appeared to somehow be still standing. Opening his eyes in consternation, he realised the shouting and scuffling that had broken out was concentrated on a cluster of sailors that had been grouped to one side.

The man who’d been ordered to kill him was lying crumpled at his feet with a neat hole in his forehead.

And being pushed forward, disarmed and pinioned, and looking at Alex with an expression approaching disgust, was the last person Alex had thought to see here.

“You!” 

Yassen stared back at him impassively. “Have I ever told you, you have a real talent for screwing up my plans?” 

Before Alex could voice the indignant retort on his lips, Sarkov had stepped in between them, glaring from one to the other.

“What is all this? Can I trust no-one? I don’t have time for this. I have a crippled submarine, an incompetent security staff, a plan that is running out of time, and probably by now an ulcer. Deal with them.” 

As he turned and marched away, Alex saw the man holding Yassen’s arm in a vice-like grip raise his gun. Before he could shout a warning, something struck him on the back of his own head, and everything exploded in light before fading to black.

\--

When Alex opened his eyes, wincing as sparks seemed to crawl across his vision, all was quiet. Too quiet. He struggled to sit up, only to realise he was handcuffed to a metal stanchion, his hands behind his back. Looking down his heart gave a panicked lurch as he saw the unmoving figure of Yassen lying next to him, similarly restrained. A line of blood had run from his hair along his cheek, and Alex fought down the fear, telling himself if he was dead, if they’d killed him, they wouldn’t have bothered to tie him up. 

Forcing himself to sit up, Alex realised his ankles were manacled as well. There was no sound other than a protesting metal creak, no engines, no lighting, only the greenish glow of the emergency lights, and the floor was tilting slightly away from them.

“Yassen. Yassen!” He nudged the motionless figure with his knee. “Wake up. Yassen!” 

There was no response, and Alex fought down a fluttering of panic. It was bad enough to be in this situation at all, but to be left here on his own would be so much worse. 

“Yassen, _please_ , wake up. _Yassen!_ ”

Finally the Russian gave a groan and shifted slightly on the floor. Alex slumped back in relief, before reassessing things slightly. Yassen was liable to be just as dangerous to his wellbeing as Sarkov had been.

On the other hand, he had just saved his life. 

Yassen opened his eyes, and blinked a few times before settling his gaze on Alex.

Alex gave a sheepish smile. “Hey.”

Yassen groaned in a rather more heartfelt fashion and rolled over muttering something under his breath. Alex didn’t need to be a linguist to get the gist that it wasn’t complimentary. 

Brought up sharply by the cuffs on his own wrists, Yassen, too, shuffled into a semi-sitting position and took stock of their circumstances.

“Hmmn.”

“What, that’s it? We’re stuck on an abandoned submarine and all you can manage is _hmmn_?” Alex felt the panic bubbling up again inside him, and swallowed, hard. 

Yassen just raised an eyebrow. “I’d say it was worse than just abandoned. I’d say we were sinking.”

“ _What_?” 

“Guess they left the door open on the way out.” He shifted position again, apparently trying to reach the restraints around his ankles, while Alex stared at him in horror.

“Sinking?” he managed, finally. 

Yassen grunted, then gave a sigh of exasperation. “Can you reach my boot?” he demanded, drawing his legs up and wriggling round until he could slide them awkwardly behind Alex’s back.

Alex felt stiff leather against his fingers and frowned. “What am I looking for?”

“Lock pick. Should be a metal wire in the left one.”

With some difficulty, Alex tried to manoeuvre his fingers into the boot resting against his hands. It wasn’t easy - the boot was laced tightly up to the ankle, and Alex’s fingers were going numb from the cuffs. Plus, he couldn’t see what he was doing.

Swearing and muttering, he finally managed to loosen the laces enough to get his hand in, working his fingers down into the warm space beside Yassen’s leg. His fingers finally closed around a sharp metal wire and he gasped as he tried to get purchase without being able to flex his hand.

“Easy,” Yassen murmured, quietly. “There’s no rush.” Alex knew perfectly well there was, but he appreciated the reassurance nonetheless.

“Got it,” he breathed, as he drew the slim length out of the boot.

“Good work,” Yassen murmured approvingly. “Give it to me now.”

With some more manoeuvring they managed to work themselves back to back, and Alex felt warm fingers briefly entwining with his own as Yassen took possession of the picklock.

A brief fumble later and Yassen had freed his wrists, rubbing them quickly before unlocking his ankle chains and standing up. He stamped a couple of times to restore circulation and then walked over towards the control panels.

“Oi! What about me?” Alex demanded from the floor.

Yassen looked down at him, and almost smiled. “Ah. Yes. You.” He strolled back until he was standing over Alex’s legs. 

Alex jingled his chains impatiently, and Yassen gave a short laugh. “I get the impression you’d be less trouble to me if I left you down there.”

Alex glared. “But you’re not going to. Right? _Right_?” 

Yassen crouched over him, not taking his eyes off Alex’s face. Seemed to come to a decision. “Very well. Turn round.”

A few seconds later, Alex was rubbing his wrists in mild agony as Yassen strode across to fiddle with the controls of the sub.

“Can you make it work?” Alex asked, hobbling somewhat painfully across to join him.

“The charge I planted was designed to take out power to the engines. There was a second one that will have taken out the back up supply. All being well I should have been out of here before the general evacuation.” He sighed, and Alex slumped despondently into one of the control chairs. 

“You mean if it hadn’t been for me you would have been.”

“Exactly.” Yassen didn’t look up from where he was flicking at the unresponsive controls. His tone hadn’t been especially accusatory but Alex still felt wretched. 

“You should have let them shoot me,” he said miserably. “Then at least one of us would have gotten out of here alive. We’re sunk, aren’t we.”

Yassen finally looked over at him, and gave a wry smile. “Bad choice of words.” He straightened up. “I’m going to see if the engines are fixable.” Before he left the control deck he paused and looked back.

“Alex. For what it’s worth? If I knew how things would turn out? I still wouldn’t have let him shoot you.” He ducked through the opening into the companionway and was gone, leaving Alex staring at the hatch in slight shock.

\--

When Yassen returned after only a few minutes had elapsed, Alex knew it was going to be bad news. He’d come back too quickly to offer any hope.

A brief shake of the head confirmed Alex’s fears, and he closed his eyes against the rising terror in his stomach.

“It is as I feared,” said Yassen, dispassionately. “They have flooded the rear section. The engine bay is not even reachable.” He hesitated. “I‘m sorry, Alex.” 

“There’s no way we can get out?” Alex asked, refusing to give up hope. “The escape capsules - “

“All gone.” 

“Couldn’t we just - ” Alex subsided into his seat, knowing the answer before he asked the question. “No. Wouldn’t survive the decompression, right?”

“Unprotected? I doubt we’d have the breath to reach the surface from this depth, even if the pressure out there didn’t kill us immediately. We’d drown long before we had to worry about the bends.”

“Cheerful bastard aren’t you?”

“It’s a curse,” Yassen agreed, dropping into the second chair. Alex blinked as it took a second to register that the Russian had just made a joke. Reflected that there were maybe worse people to be stuck down here with. He sighed.

“How long?”

“The air?” Yassen considered. “Hours, at most. But we‘ll strike the bottom before that. The hull may not withstand the impact.”

Alex licked suddenly dry lips. “Can’t we radio someone for help?”

“Even if we could, they’d never reach us in time.” But Yassen sucked thoughtfully on his lower lip and sat forward, studying the panel. “It’s possible. If I can divert some of the emergency power we could send a distress call.” He shrugged. “But it would only be very short range. Probably the only people close enough to pick it up would be the ones that left us here in the first place.”

“Try?” Alex urged, hoping it didn’t sound as pleading to Yassen as it did to him.

Yassen studied him for a second, then nodded. “Very well.” He slid to the floor and started unbolting the metal panel.

Alex came to kneel next to him, looking on anxiously. “Is there anything I can do?”

Yassen started to shake his head irritably, then checked himself, considered Alex’s pale, tight face. “See if you can find a torch. This lighting’s so low I can hardly see what I’m doing.”

Grateful to have a purpose, Alex scrambled away in search.

\--

“It’s done.” Yassen fitted the panel back into place and turned to sit on the slightly sloping deck, leaning back against the console. After a second’s hesitation, Alex sat next to him, fidgeting anxiously with the torch in his hands, not wanting to pester but lacking the Russian‘s calm acceptance.

Yassen took pity on him. “It will carry on sending a distress signal until - until it doesn’t any more,” he explained, not needing to spell out what might put an end to the weak broadcast.

They were quiet for a second, the only noise the eerie groaning of the hull under pressures it wasn’t built to withstand. Alex shifted nervously.

“Do you think hitting the bottom will - that we’ll - you know?” he asked finally, not sure he really wanted to hear the answer, but unable to bear the silence. 

Yassen looked thoughtful. “The flooded section should in fact act as a buffer. Assuming the doors hold - and there’s two sets in between - we should be alright. Of course, the bottom’s not flat. If the view screen hits a cliff or something - well, it’s the weakest spot.”

Alex stared apprehensively at the strengthened plexi-glass window, outside of which was only impenetrable darkness. Imagined the cold black water rushing in under immense pressure, forcing its way into his mouth, his nose, his lungs…

He gave a convulsive shudder, and Yassen gave him a sideways glance. “Are you alright?”

There were any number of replies it occurred to Alex to shout at that, but he settled for a tight shake of the head. 

“I don’t want to drown,” he breathed, almost to himself.

Awkwardly, Yassen reached out, rested a hand on his shoulder in an unaccustomed gesture of comfort. “They took my gun,” he murmured, rubbing gentle fingers against Alex’s neck. “But if the worst happens - if there is a breach in here - there should be a few seconds. I could - ” he hesitated. “Well. You wouldn’t have to feel anything.”

Alex looked up then, wide eyed, and held Yassen’s steady gaze. For a long moment they stared at each other, caught in a moment of the strangest intimacy. 

“Do it.” Alex’s whisper was hoarse. “If the water gets in - _promise_ me?” 

After a second Yassen nodded, expression bleak. On impulse, Alex slid closer, until Yassen’s arm was round his shoulders. He drew his knees up to his chin, and leaned into Yassen’s side. The arm around him tightened briefly in a fleeting squeeze of reassurance.

And the submarine continued its slow journey towards the seabed. 

\--

Restless, Alex explored the confines of the still-pressurised compartments, sliding about on the increasingly sloping floor. It didn’t take long, the sub wasn’t all that big to begin with. There was the main command deck, and the storage area where he’d hidden before. The engine bay and crew quarters were flooded beyond reach. He’d eyed the air-tight doors holding back the water warily at first, but boredom conquerors even fear eventually. 

A brief flare of hope when he’d opened a locker to discover diving equipment - but a cursory examination revealed the tanks were all empty.

Finally, he’d made his way back to Yassen, who didn’t appear to have moved. 

“How can you just sit there?” Alex complained, hardly knowing what he expected Yassen to do, but feeling it should be _something_.

“Until there is something constructive I can do, it’s best to preserve the air,” he replied mildly. Alex felt a sudden spike of guilt. Here he’d been scrambling all over the place without a thought to how much oxygen he might be using up. Was it his imagination, or was it suddenly a little harder to breathe now he came to think about it?

Yassen, though, was getting to his feet. Alex looked at him curiously as he walked over to the entrance. “What are you doing?”

“We must be near the bottom by now. It would be safest if this door was closed when we hit. Just in case.” In the absence of power, he was having to hand-crank it shut, and Alex hovered nearby, knowing Yassen would probably do it quicker on his own, and feeling resentfully helpless. 

As the door sealed into place, it seemed like barely a second had gone past when the whole boat shuddered from end to end, sending loose equipment skittering across the deck in a shower of objects. 

Off balance, they grabbed instinctively at each other, only to drag each other down as the whole floor tilted the other way. They rolled helplessly sideways, thrown by the momentum of the crash, until brought to a sudden painful halt against the console, tangled together.

Half-stunned, Yassen could feel Alex’s body tensed in apprehension beneath him, and through the haze of the impact, tried to shield him from any influx as best he could. 

Seconds passed. Then a few more. Gradually, they uncurled from the defensive knot they seemed to have formed, and looked at each other in gradually fading disbelief, before starting to laugh.

“We made it!” Alex breathed in relief.

Yassen smiled down at him and shook his head. “Apparently so. We get to die slowly instead. Much better.”

Alex slapped him on the chest and his smile widened. In that moment Alex became uncomfortably aware of the position they were in, and flushed in sudden embarrassment. Yassen was lying almost entirely on top of him, and it somehow started to feel less protective than it had a second ago.

He pushed insistently at Yassen’s shoulder, who rolled off him without demur, scrambling to his feet and brushing himself down. Alex swallowed painfully, wishing he could push away his unwelcome thoughts just as easily. 

\--

Yassen was examining the door. He looked up as Alex made his way over and shrugged. “I don’t know if the outer bay has been compromised or not. And without opening the door there’s no way of telling.”

“So we’re trapped in here,” Alex said flatly.

“Looks like it.” Yassen crossed to the communications console and studied it. “Still sending.”

“Someone will hear us, right?” Alex asked, knowing in his heart what the answer was.

Yassen sighed, flicking idly at the switches. “Sure. It’ll be all right.” 

Alex managed a smile. “You’re a shit liar for a spy you know.”

Yassen’s bark of genuine laughter did more to hearten him than any number of promises.

\--

It was getting warm. Alex felt that somehow this far beneath the sea it should be cold, but he was oddly drowsy, and couldn’t think it through. His shirt was sticking to him unpleasantly, and he wondered if Yassen felt the same. Raising his head to look across at the Russian seemed to take more effort than it should have done, his head felt heavy and his eyes full of grit.

Yassen was sitting at the second command position, and Alex was faintly surprised to note that he’d gone from his earlier upright posture to sprawling almost bonelessly in the seat.

It took him two tries before Yassen looked up at his name, and Alex wondered dimly if the first time he‘d actually spoken aloud at all. 

“Are you hot? Or is it me?” Alex found he had to form the words carefully, think about what he was saying first.

Yassen sat up in the chair, shaking his head sharply to clear it, and grunting agreement. He made a face and peeled off the woollen sweater he was wearing. “Getting close in here,” he murmured.

Alex found he was now staring at Yassen’s bare chest, and looked quickly away, hoping he hadn’t noticed. It was an appealing idea though, and he unbuttoned his own shirt, dropping it to the floor carelessly. He groaned, feeling drained and headachy.

A few feet away, Yassen pulled himself unsteadily to his feet, and walked across to the sealed door with what seemed to take more concentration than should have been necessary. He leaned against it for a second, bracing himself with the flat of his hand. He seemed to be listening, and Alex hauled himself up, and stumbled across to join him.

“Is it flooded?”

Yassen shook his head. “I can’t tell. I don’t think so, but - ” he let the thought tail off meaningfully. The implications were clear. If they opened the door, they might gain another hour or so’s survival. On the other hand, if the inner doors had been breached when they hit the bottom, they’d die there and then.

“If we’re quick…?”

Yassen shook his head again, more definitely. “The pressure this far down - it would be too much. So much as a pinhole would be enough to force the gap wider immediately. No. It must be all or nothing.” He looked at Alex steadily, and he realised with a qualm of horror that Yassen meant to leave the decision to him. 

He swallowed, thickly, and wished he could think straight, but his head was fuzzy and static filled. The thought of the crushing deeps outside their flimsy refuge made him feel panicky, and he moved instinctively closer to Yassen. It was getting hard to breathe, and he realised with sinking horror that their choice was drowning or suffocation.

Yassen looked at him enquiringly, patiently. 

Alex tried to take a deep breath, and coughed when the air his lungs were expecting proved thin and stale. 

“Do it.” Alex stepped yet closer, and Yassen reached out, slid an arm around his shoulders, pulling him to the side, holding him there. 

“Yassen - ” Alex tried to look composed, to hide the fact that inside he was trembling with horror. “If it - doesn’t work - you promised.”

Thin lipped, Yassen nodded, and drew Alex closer. The protective arm around his neck suddenly took on a more sinister significance, and Alex shuddered. They regarded at each other, one last time. 

Alex nodded. Yassen stroked a thumb across his cheek, and seemed about to say something, but in the end just nodded back and turned to the door.

Knuckles white on the crank handle as he took the strain. The door seal gave a protesting creak, and Alex flinched, fighting the urge to bury his face in Yassen’s shoulder. Watched instead the play of muscles under the smooth skin of his arm, not thinking, not allowing himself to anticipate what might happen.

The door gave, finally, with a jolt, an inch gap cleaving open. Both of them instinctively, uselessly, jerking back, away from what it might admit.

It took a full stunned second to realise no wall of water was forcing its way into their chamber, the only influx that of fresher air - recycled, stale submarine air, but oh so sweet after their diminished supply.

Alex laughed out loud in relief, and even Yassen smiled, using the arm still about his shoulders to pull Alex into a sudden, unexpected embrace. Alex, startled but gleeful, hugged him back euphorically. 

For a second they clung to each other with a fierce and equal rush of emotion at their reprieve. But both knew the respite was only a temporary delaying of the inevitable, and when they broke apart from each other, there was little either could say.

\--

Time passed, with a heavy inevitability. The air, freshened, grew once more uncomfortably warm and Alex stirred restlessly. 

They were both sitting on the floor now, backs against the communications console where they could hear the faint comforting ping that marked the sending of the distress beacon. Neither prepared to admit this had any bearing on their position.

“I don’t want to die.” The sentence, in Alex’s head, had been full of rage at the unfairness of it all. Spoken aloud, it sounded lost, and miserable, and he was immediately ashamed. Yassen, though, turned his head to look at him, and smiled, tiredly. 

“I’m sorry, Alex,” he said quietly. 

Alex flushed. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t mean - I should never have got on this stupid thing in the first place. I don’t know why I thought I could stop him.” The thought prompted another, and he looked up, alarmed. “Who _is_ going to stop him, now?”

Yassen shrugged. “Someone else’s problem now. You’re not the only agent in the world Alex. And anyway, we _have_ rather set back his plans.” He smirked, and Alex shook his head at the Russian’s unfathomable moods. 

“You never did say what you were doing here,” he muttered, eager for any distraction from their fast approaching fate.

“Man like Sarkov has a lot of enemies.” Yassen yawned. “Many of them willing to pay to have a few less.” He looked briefly irritated. “Should have insisted on 100% up front.”

“Oh, because it would have done you so much good dying that bit richer!” 

“It’s the principle,” Yassen objected, hiding a smile as Alex bridled.

“You don’t _have_ any principles.”

“Don’t I?” 

Alex hesitated, suddenly realising he was being played. Half indignant and half grateful for the Russian’s distraction, he sighed. 

“There’s so many things I haven’t done.” he said instead, bitterly. 

Yassen reached out, wordlessly covered Alex’s hand where it lay listlessly on the floor. 

After a second, Alex turned his hand over, curling his fingers into Yassen’s warm grip. It was comforting, and it steadied him. 

“I’m sorry,” he offered, clearing his throat. “I’m being pathetic.”

“You have nothing to be ashamed of Alex. I know supposedly harder men than you who would be clawing at the walls by now.”

“Would it do me any good?” Alex smiled, wryly.

Yassen laughed, and Alex wondered if it was the lack of oxygen that was making him feel almost drunk, the rumble of the Russian’s laugh making things curl warmly in his stomach. He shifted closer, until his bare arm was pressed against Yassen’s warm skin.

“Alex?” Yassen looked round, just as Alex turned to speak himself, and they both stopped, abruptly derailed.

Their faces were too close, Alex could feel Yassen’s warm breath against his lips, and suddenly it was all he could do not to close the gap. Their fingers were still entwined, and Alex was burningly aware of the touch. He squeezed, tentatively, and after a stomach-sinking pause, Yassen returned the pressure.

A beat passed. Two.

Screwing up his courage, Alex lunged clumsily sideways, pressed his lips desperately against Yassen’s mouth, his eyes closed, his heart beating wildly. Yassen didn’t pull away, but neither did he do what Alex wanted so much, and claim him for his own.

Finally, fearfully, pulling back, Alex looked up to find Yassen staring at him as though lost for words, his hands gripping Alex‘s arms now, painfully tight, but it was hardly clear if he was holding him off or preventing him pulling away.

“Say something,” Alex pleaded, eventually.

“This is a bad idea,” Yassen replied, but without letting go of his vice-like grip on Alex’s arms.

“We’re going to _die_ , Yassen,” Alex objected.

Yassen considered this for a minute, weighing his hesitation at Alex‘s relative youth against the boy’s obviously genuine desire. And he was right. There was unlikely to be time for recriminations.

“Fair point,” he conceded finally, and having made his decision, immediately bent to kiss Alex himself. It was hot, and wet and breathless. Alex found himself sprawling eagerly into Yassen‘s lap, the Russian’s arms holding him close. He was already hard, embarrassingly so, only saved from mortification by the realisation that Yassen was as hard as he was, a warm pressure against his thigh.

Alex rubbed against him pointedly, and Yassen groaned, protestingly. “God, Alex.”

“Touch me,” Alex urged. 

“It’s not - ”

“ _Touch_ me.”

Yassen gave in, sliding a hand into the front of Alex’s combat trousers, fingers wrapping snugly round his straining cock, stroking gently. It was enough to make Alex bury his face in Yassen’s neck and moan with abandoned pleasure.

He’d accepted, somewhere along the line, that he really was going to die, and consequently found he wasn’t ashamed of making it abundantly clear what he wanted. His own hand groped at the crotch of Yassen’s trousers, following the line of his erection under the cloth, squeezing gently, before burrowing his way into the fly, seeking, stroking. 

Yassen’s cock was warm and heavy in his hand, he gloried in the feel of him, running his palm the length of the Russian’s shaft, fingertip sliding over the already damp head, slicking him with his own pre-come, drawing him out and working him, even as Yassen was in turn bringing him to a shaking and frantic state of arousal.

They worked their trousers and underwear down until they were pressed awkwardly together, all swollen flesh and harsh, breathy kisses, and jerking hips.

“We’re going to use up all the oxygen,” warned Yassen, half laughing, half panting as they exchanged furious kisses, grappling with each other, almost fighting.

“Don’t care,” breathed Alex desperately, crushing his lips against Yassen’s in a pleading kiss, to be met with equal force. “I want this,” he murmured, against his lips. “I need this.”

They slid full length down onto the floor, Alex wrapping his legs around Yassen‘s, letting the Russian pin him down and ride him, the friction of one against the other an agonisingly delicious burn, the hard cold floor forgotten as they gave themselves up to the moment. 

For a long, heated, blissfully mindless while, they forgot about the approaching threat of death, and their oh-so-fragile, claustrophobic refuge. The only sounds were skin against skin, laboured breathing, and the groans and gasps and occasional helpless laugh they elicited from each other. 

What felt like much too soon for his liking, the sensations became too much for Alex, and biting down hard on Yassen’s shoulder, he came helplessly, a whimpering, trembling tangle of emotions and sated lust.

The feeling of Alex’s release hot against his stomach drew an appreciative groan from Yassen’s throat, and he too let himself go, the orgasm ripping through him in a wave of pleasure. 

Spent, they lay in a loose embrace, Alex resting his head on Yassen’s chest, trying to recover his breath. Gradually, it dawned on him that the continued labouring of his lungs was due less to exertion than the increasing lack of available air.

He started up, ready to panic, and Yassen pulled him back down, laid a calming hand on him.

“Hush, little one,” he murmured. “Lie still, lie still.” His own voice was breathless, and Alex screwed his eyes shut in sudden fear. But Yassen’s hand was now stroking his hair, and he drew strength from the Russian‘s apparently fatalistic acceptance.

He sat up again and scrubbed at himself with his screwed up underwear, before pulling his trousers back on under Yassen’s amused gaze.

“I don’t want to die in the nude, okay?” Alex protested.

Yassen held up his hands. “I didn’t say anything.” Alex threw him his own trousers, and smirking, he pulled them on. “Better?”

Alex snorted, and crawled back to slump into his arms. Yassen folded him into a comfortable embrace, and a drowsy silence descended.

Time slipped away, sand through an hourglass. Alex’s head was aching, and his throat and lips were dry. He realised he was drifting in and out of sleep, and struggled to clear his thoughts.

“Yassen?” 

“Mmmn?” 

Alex looked up at him, fuzzily. It felt like there were things he should say. Things he’d never get another chance to. But he couldn’t form the words, and after a second Yassen just smiled, and kissed him lingeringly on the cheek. And Alex realised that maybe, after all, he didn’t need to say them.

\--

It was hard, now, to breathe. Yassen roused himself from a half-stupor and found that Alex was either asleep or unconscious. He shook him, gently, and although Alex mumbled a wordless protest, he didn’t wake.

Yassen laid him carefully on the floor, sliding his own sweater under Alex’s head. He didn’t believe they had a hope of survival, but it rankled to just lie down and give up. Something Alex had said earlier came back to him now, and he tried to get to his feet, swaying weakly. In the end, it was easier to crawl, and he made his way to the doors to the aft section. It took virtually the last of his strength to crank the doors wide enough to squeeze through, and black spots were dancing across his vision.

In the storage compartment, he found the locker Alex had left open, where he’d discovered the empty scuba tanks. Made clumsy by oxygen deprivation, and hardly able to focus, nonetheless Yassen doggedly and methodically went through every one, checking the dials.

It was a long shot, but it paid off. One single canister had a quarter remaining. Clutching the tank and regulator, he made his way painfully slowly back onto the command deck.

Despite his efforts, Alex, now, refused to be roused. Still breathing, just, his lips had taken on a blue-ish tinge, and Yassen fumbled hastily with the equipment, forcing himself to concentrate, not to give in to the frustration clouding his thoughts.

Eventually he managed to connect everything up to the tank, and pushed the mouthpiece between Alex’s lips, watching with relief as the rise and fall of his chest immediately seemed stronger, more defined.

Let himself sag to the floor beside him, wearily. He had done all he could. Yassen took one last long look at Alex, then closed his eyes and let the darkness wash over him.

\--

Outside, the darkness total. Black weight of water, pressing, testing, trying to break in. Creak of metal under stress, carried through the water.

And another sound, more regular. An engine noise distorted but transmitted through the depths. And then a searchlight, sweeping over the submarine‘s hull.

A deep-sea research vessel, turquoise blue, hovering over the stricken vessel like a curious bird. Inside, two men, staring at what the searchlight revealed, dumbfounded.

One flicked at the control panel, cutting off the repeating SOS. “Told you.” 

His companion, a short, stocky Italian, made a face. “Bully for you. Think there’s anyone alive in there?”

“Why don’t you take a walk and find out?“

“Ah, now, I would, but I have a note from my mother excusing me from missions of deep insanity?”

The first man brought the submersible slowly around the wreck, looking for a likely point of entry. “Good thing we’ve got the mechanical arm then. Let‘s find out if anyone‘s at home.” 

\--

Alex felt like he was flying. A gentle rocking motion, soothing, made him think of cradles, and hammocks. Opening eyes that felt sore and gritty, he stared uncomprehending at a white ceiling that he didn’t recognise. 

Looking around, he found he was in what appeared to be a small medical bay, on a pristine white treatment couch. Next to him was a second bed. 

It was empty.

As events flooded back to him in a rush he sat up, only to be hit by a wave of dizziness. It felt like his lungs had been sandpapered, and he coughed convulsively, trying to fight down the sudden choking fear that Yassen hadn‘t made it.

He was steeling himself to climb down and go and find someone who could tell him where he was and what was going on, when he became aware of a figure having appeared in the doorway.

“Going somewhere?”

Alex’s head shot up. “Yassen!” He slumped in relief.

The Russian smiled, thinly. “You are awake. Good.” He came across to stand by the bed, fingers twitching slightly as he suppressed the unreasonable urge to take Alex into his arms. 

“What happened?” Alex looked dazed.

“Apparently miracles do happen.” Yassen shook his head, disbelievingly. “Our signal was picked up after all, by a research vessel doing seabed investigations. They managed to get us out and back to their ship. Which is where we are now.” He looked briefly impressed. “It is very well equipped.”

“But how - who - ”

Yassen shrugged. “Some American outfit. Look, you get some rest, yes? I just needed to know - ” he checked himself. “I just came to see if you were alright. Go back to sleep, hmmn?”

Alex nodded, and lay down again obediently. He _did_ feel rough, on top of feeling weak with relief. He held out his hand, quietly. “Yassen? When we - ”

Yassen took his outstretched hand and squeezed it, then laid a finger on Alex’s lips. “Shh. We’ll talk later, okay?”

Alex nodded, sleepily, and smiled. 

\--

A quarter of an hour later, he was woken again by the sound of a helicopter taking off from the boat. While this wasn‘t especially surprising in itself, it appeared to coincide with a lot of running feet and shouting in the passage outside.

Listening to the yelled conversations, Alex gathered that this had not been a scheduled take off. The helicopter, in point of fact, appeared to have just been stolen. 

Falling back against the pillows with a resigned sense of loss, Alex rather suspected he knew who by.

\--

**Author's Note:**

> (i) Their un-named rescuers are meant to be Dirk Pitt and Al Giordino from the Clive Cussler books. Because who else are you going to run into at the bottom of the ocean?


End file.
